I think the idea that adults are supposed to be boring is a fairly old one by now, and is probably the reason why so many people are convinced they shouldn't read fairy tales or play with toys after the age of twelve. That's sad, but I can sorta see where the idea is floating around in the culture. But the idea that sheer misery and big honkin' problems is proof that one is an adult? That's so counterintuitive to me it took me ages to figure out. I always figured that maturity meant you should be able to learn from your mistakes (and others' mistakes while you're at it), that you should avoid the familiar mistakes of your past and go on to make new ones (since nobody's life can be mistake-free, after all). These people who do the same things over and over, knowing that the result will be unhappiness for themselves and people they profess to love, and insisting that their acceptance of self-inflicted is "maturity" and "wisdom"--these people baffle me.